


The Story of M

by bookjunkiecat



Series: The Adventures of John's Dong [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: John gets it off with the British Goverment, Just a minute Prime Minister, M/M, Only he doesn't, The Ice Man cometh, What's a little fellatio between frenemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 14:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Ridiculous "lost scene" between John and Mycroft, for Superlorie, who asked for it.





	The Story of M

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Superlorie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superlorie/gifts).



           Rusty raindrops and the skitter of rat’s claws. The abandoned warehouse, the lonely alleyway. Thugs in bespoke suits, no outline of a gun holster beneath the Saville Row suiting. Delicately worded threats spoken with a slight sneer.

          _That’s_ what John was used to when Mycroft Holmes kidnapped him. This was…different.

          A really posh Georgian row-house, discreet entry, a snooty majordomo bidding him to wait in the paneled library. John flicked his finger against the decanter on the sideboard. Real crystal. Of course, as if Mycroft Holmes would have anything less than the best. Might as well drink while he waits…ah, yes, that is good stuff.

          Fire burning in the huge hearth, low lights. It was very nice. So clean and well-kept. No chemical burns on the rug, no mysterious smells, fingers in the fridge, wild-eyed flatmate running amok. Ooh, that leather chair looks right comfy too. Just settle right in…mm, comfy on the bum.

          “Enjoying yourself, Doctor Watson?”

          And here comes the unpleasant part of the evening. The fly in the ointment, as Sherlock would say.

          “’s a matter of fact I am.” Hmm, bit slurry sounding. Possibly he should have eaten today, and not quaffed that first rather large drink quite so fast.

          “It’s important for a man to relax,” was Mycroft’s surprising reply. He crossed to the decanter, held it up enticingly. “Might I tempt you to a refill, Doctor Watson?”

          “Wouldn’t say no.”

          “No, no, stay where you are, let me serve you. There you are. When one has to deal with Sherlock around the clock, one must take the opportunity to refresh the senses when one has the option to do so.”

          _One must_ , John sniggered. These posh bastards, so snooty and poncy, particularly the elder brother. Always so properly attired, never a hair out of place, never a raised voice—well, Sherlock raised his, but you just couldn’t imagine Mycroft yelling at a good match, or shouting in annoyance at some scuttleing underling; stub a toe on his giant desk and just mutter a stifled curse through gritted teeth most likely…probably didn’t even make a sound when he, you know. If he even _did,_ do, you know.

          “I do, Doctor Watson. Though sadly never as often as one’s transport might prefer.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow and his glass in a little toast to _you know_.

          “Um…”

          “Your face is quite expressive.” Mycroft sipped his drink, let his tongue slip out and caress his lips.

          “Is it?”

          “It is. Right now, for instance, you are looking at my mouth and having rather earthy thoughts regarding putting it to use servicing your rather impressive member.”

          Oh that was nice, nice of the evil, horrid, slightly sexy man to come thump him on the back so he didn’t choke to death. He was still objectionable, but at least he kept him from strangling to death on whiskey that went down the wrong way.

          “You are surprised to hear me speak of such things, I gather. No doubt my brother behaves like a bloodless monk. Sherlock has never given any thought to acts of a sexual nature, aside from a year or two in his burgeoning youth. We were rather afraid, at one point, that he would develop tendonitis in his efforts at self-pleasuring. Mummy had him medicated when he was discovered trying to reach his nether regions with his mouth. Sherlock never does things by half measure.”

          What do you say to something like that? Clearly have gotten tangled up with a family of madmen. Quick, take another drink.

          “Refill, Doctor Watson?”

          “Oh. Oh, I seem to have finished that rather quickly.”

          “You are nervous, I apologize. In my eagerness I pressed forward too quickly. It is ever so. My position requires me to act decisively, and once I have come to a goal in sight I press until the culmination is mine.”

          _What?_

          “What?”

          “Are you becoming inebriated? Perhaps no more to drink for you. Besides, excess amounts of alcohol can render a man temporarily unable to achieve an erection. I—where are you going?”

          “Out of here! I don’t know what exactly you’re on about, but if it’s what I think—no.”

          Mycroft sat relaxed in his chair, one long leg crossed over the other, his whiskey glass dangling casually from one hand. He smiled. It was not a reassuring sight. “You do know what I am ‘on about.’ And furthermore, you’re interested. Intellectually you despise me, but physically you’re reacting to the thought.”

          “My prick has never had any sense. It doesn’t know better than to avoid you. But I do.”

          “I assure you that if you remain, I will perform what will undoubtedly be the most stupendous oral sex you have ever received. I’m quite well known for it. At Harrow I applied myself assiduously, and at Oxford I perfected my technique. Sadly, I have few occasions to exercise my skills at my current occupation in society and within our government.”

          _I’m listening_. “That’s a bold claim for a man who’s probably never kneeled to anyone in his life.”

          “You can lie down if you prefer.” Mycroft stood, walked across the room in a quite predatory manner. John lectured himself sternly not to find it a bit exciting. Alright, more than a bit. “However I do love to abase myself on my knees while I fellate my partner.”

          _Fellate is not a sexy word. And yet there you are, you dumb ding-a-ling, sitting up and begging like the eager little slut that you are. I suppose I’ll get no peace tonight if I don’t shut you up._ “You talk too much,” John said, and put his hand on the taller man’s shoulder, pushing him down until he was on his knees. “Put that tongue to better work.”

          Mycroft’s eyes gleamed and he obediently unfastened John’s trousers. He would have expected the measured movements of a valet but Mycroft jerked at the button, nearly broke the zip, and scooped him out of his pants with cold hands. The first part was exciting, but the cold hands bit took a little of the wind out of his sails. Mycroft took care of that most efficiently, by the simple expedient of slurping his flagging flagpole directly into his mouth.

          Silver-tongued took on a whole new meaning for John. Knees buckling, he propped himself on Mycroft’s suit-clad shoulders and hoped they didn’t go down in a very undignified tangle. If he fell on Mycroft there was a good chance he would rupture the man’s soft palate.

          “You weren’t lying,” John gasped, grabbing a handful of Mycroft’s perfectly coiffed hair and tangling his fingers in it. Normally he wouldn’t be so rude but since the man had said he wanted to be abased…

          Changing his stance to insure he wasn’t in danger of falling, John guided his blow job. Mycroft pulled off his meat lolly with a pop to gasp, “No gag reflex,” and plunged back to work. _Alright then_ , John thought enthusiastically, and pushed deeper, digging his fingers into the other man’s hair. A wanton moan was his reward, so he twisted it in his fist and nearly yelled at the groaning and swallowing that enveloped the crown of his sceptre…that was a bad analogy, got lost somewhere in the middle. Difficult to think when you were receiving award winning head; this was really good. He hadn’t had sex since his just-the-tip exploration with Sarah, and Mycroft’s mouth was a miracle.

          “Sir, the PM is on the phone.” Anthea, Mycroft’s barely- thawed icicle of a PA had trickled into the room.

          “Join us or bugger off!” John yelled over his shoulder. The door closed quietly. Mycroft made a series of debauched noises, his pace increasing. “You like that, don’t you, you filthy cocksucker.” John grinned down into the other man’s dazed eyes. A nod was his answer.

          Despite his dislike of the diplomat, a few minutes later John gasped out, “I’m coming.” He didn’t want to come on the rug underfoot, since it probably cost more than his parent’s home, but he wasn’t going to come down a man’s throat without warning, just because he didn’t care for him personally.

          Mycroft grabbed his arse cheeks with his cold, spidery hands and took the entire length in his mouth, John’s bollocks slapping him in the chin. John bellowed and flooded Mycroft’s throat with a tidal wave of sperm. Mycroft sucked and licked his way through the aftershocks and pulled back.

          Bloody amazing, despite all the licking and…slurping, all the wet, obscene noises and the frankly phenomenal amount of fluid that had been involved, Mycroft looked fairly neat. He smoothed his hair with his hands, retrieved a starched white handkerchief from his inner jacket pocket, wiped the shining lips, the glazed chin, and then folded it over and tucked it back in his pocket. “If you’ll excuse me, Doctor Watson, I must phone someone back. Anthea will see you out.”

          Dazed, flaccid dick dangling out of his flies, John stood alone in the room and wondered just what in the hell had happened. The door opened and Anthea glided to his side, like a gorgeous glacier on the move. “Would sir care for a wet wipe?”

          Madmen, that’s what they all were.

         

         


End file.
